


Luck is not on her side.

by Waxwing



Category: Friday the 13th (2009), Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, F/M, Incestuous Undertones, It's gonna' get weird, pedophillic undertones, sex with a mentally handicapped person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waxwing/pseuds/Waxwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During her 6 weeks being held captive by Jason, omega Whitney goes into heat.<br/>Takes place in the 2009 reboot because there are almost no stories for this pairing and that is a grave injustice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

No, Whitney though as she laid curled in the fetal position on her dirty mattress, no, no, no, please GOD no. She had hoped that the considerable stress she was under would delay her heat but (in what seemed to have become an ongoing trend lately) luck was not on her side. It wasn’t on her yet but she could feel it looming at the edges of her perception like a towering thundercloud on the horizon. She was desperate enough that she even briefly considered trying to convince Jason to get her her suppressants but realized that that would require him having not burned everything from their campsite...which was unlikely. Besides, his understanding of sex seemed to begin and end at it being a bad thing for which people deserved to be punished, so she doubted he’d understand what they were and why she needed them. 

Whitney had vague, hazy memories of her first heat, which she’d gotten at thirteen. She remembered feeling nauseous and light headed and hot all over, her whole body being hyper sensitive. Her mom (right now it felt like a needle in her heart to think of her mom) had kept her home from school, nursed her through it and made sure she was on suppressants by the time the next one hit. When she’d started dating Mike (another needle) three years later she had been worried, she’d heard a lot about how eager alphas were to knot. To her profound relief when they finally did discuss it it had ended in them both admitting that they weren’t ready for that kind of commitment and agreeing to wait...that was the first thing that made her suspect that she may really be in love with him. 

Now she was on the brink of only her second ever un-suppressed heat and she was going to be having it in a masked serial killer’s basement...scratch that, a masked, serial killing ALPHA’S basement. There was not a shred of doubt in her mind that that big, hulking monster was an alpha. When he’d first dragged her back to his underground lair she’d expected him to immediately force himself on her but in all the time she’d been here he barely touched her. He had his bursts of temper but they were never directed at her (at least not yet) and the only time he ever handled her roughly was when she tried to escape. There was never any punishment for her attempts at escape, he would simply hunt her down and drag her back, like they were playing a game. When he did lay hands on her it was usually on her hair or her face and then only for brief, terrifying moments. All he seemed to want from her was her physical presence. 

That would definitely be changing but she didn’t know how it would change and that lack of certainty terrified her. The worst part was knowing that she was going to want him. The closest thing to a positive feeling that her logical mind could summon for him was pity and that was buried under thick layers of revulsion and horror but in twenty four hours (at the VERY most) all reason would be drowned out in a red tide of hormones. In her heat sick state all that would matter to her was that he was an alpha and she would...want him. She found herself morbidly hoping that this would be the thing that would finally make him snap and kill her because his only other possible reaction would result in something for which she’d never be able to forgive herself. 

She’s pulled out of her own head by the sound of Jason’s heavy footsteps on the floor boards above her. Her heart immediately begins racing and she gets to her feet in anticipation of his entrance. He’s been gone all day (at least she thinks it’s day) but doesn’t come in dragging a body behind him. She’s grateful for that rare occurrence since it helps her keep her composure. In what’s now become a familiar gesture, he walks over and hands her a green plastic bowl. It’s always the same bowl with the same spoon and it always contains something unheated that clearly came out of a can. Tonight it’s condensed chicken noodle soup, no water added. 

She wonders if he doesn’t know how to work a stove or if there just isn’t a functioning one on the grounds but by now she’s learned how pointless it is to ask him questions. She’s also never seen him eat but wouldn’t ask him what he eats even if she could, she definitely does not want to know. She fails to keep her hands steady as she takes the bowl from him, though at this point he’d probably find it odd for her not to be trembling in his presence, and says ‘thank you’ in a barely audible whisper hoping that that will make him walk away from her sooner. Of course it doesn’t work and he lingers for a moment, staring at her as usual. The difference is that now he regards her as though he suspects something about her has changed but he can’t figure out what. 

She starts and involuntarily whimpers when a big, rough hand (easily large enough to wrap all the way around her neck) comes up and caresses the side of her face. All she can do is close her eyes and grit her teeth while she waits for it to be over. His thumb smooths over the closed lid of her right eye and then his hand slides up to run through her hair, raking it back from her forehead. When it slides down to her throat she barely manages to suppress a scream, he doesn’t like for her to scream. She feels him fondle the locket around her neck and then a massive rush of relief as he retracts his hand and FINALLY walks away. 

Her knees give out as soon as he turns away and she sinks down onto the mattress. She bolts down her cold, congealed meal and places the bowl beside the mattress, careful not to make a sound. The rest of the evening is spent lying on her side, staring at the wall, resisting the urge to turn around and look at him. He hates to be stared at. He’s docile tonight so the only sound she hears is the rhythmic scrape of him sharpening his favorite blade, on and off she feels his gaze boring into her back. 

Eventually the scraping stops and she hears his footsteps recede further down the mine shaft. He sleeps somewhere down there, or at least she thinks he does, maybe he doesn’t sleep at all. Despite the absence of his oppressive presence she still finds it difficult to fall asleep. Part of it is her fear of what she’ll wake up to (which is a feeling she goes to sleep with every night now) but the rest of it is her anxiety over how she’d felt when he was standing near her. The usual horror had been there but there’d been something else...something to do with his scent. Underneath the smell of sweat and soil and mildew that always clung to him there’d been a subtle aroma she hadn’t noticed before, something her body had responded to on a visceral level. What kept her awake more than anything was the fact that there was still a vile, traitorous wetness between her legs and a heat spreading out from her core, slowly tingling through her limbs. 

No, no, no....please GOD no.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitney tries to make a run for it...with predictable results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you the next chapter will be longer and will contain sex.  
> P.S. I will love you five-ever if you leave me a comment.

Jason always wakes up very early...or he never sleeps. Either way he’s never there when Whitney wakes up in what she suspects is the morning. On this particular (assumed) morning she is especially grateful for that. Despite the clammy coldness of the mine shaft she awakes coated in a thin sheen of sweat, her heart pounding, her blood on fire. She doesn’t remember it being this intense, the feeling of her own clothing brushing against her body is enough to make her unbearably aroused. 

Without even thinking she reaches between her legs and begins rubbing herself through her pants. Each stroke sends a violent jolt through her entire nervous system and within minutes she comes to a screaming climax. For a moment all she can do is lie there panting, listening to her own scream echo through the earthen corridors and waiting for the aftershock to wear off. The orgasm brings mild relief and with it brief mental clarity. She realizes that she NEEDS to get out of here before Jason gets back, there’s no way she’s going to be able to control herself in the presence of an alpha and at BEST losing control around him will mean death. 

She sits up and tries to take deep breaths to slow down her heart rate and get her muscles to relax but thinking about Jason has triggered an unwelcome tactile memory of his fingers gently brushing her throat and that makes her whole body ache with equally unwelcome need. When she’d first been brought down here, the smell of decay had been overwhelming but in time she’d grown inured to it. Now that her senses have been altered by her heat, the whole place seems saturated with another smell that’s the same as what she’d barely detected on Jason the night before. It makes a part of her not want to escape but instead lie back down and wait for her alpha to come home. Realizing she’s just thought of that monster as HER alpha she’s hit with a wave of disgust followed by a wave of renewed panic. She IS NOT in her right mind and if she doesn’t get out of here she’s going to lose herself completely. 

Frantically she examines her shackles, they’re loose on her wrists but not big enough to slide off over her hands...not comfortably anyway but now is no time to be concerned with comfort. After what feels like an eternity of pulling and tearing she manages to get her hands out of them, sacrificing most of the skin on her thumbs in the process. With all the adrenaline pumping through her system, she barely feels it. She runs in the direction that Jason usually enters from and eventually finds the trap door. She only has a few moments to savor being outside for the first time in weeks before she stumbles into a trip wire, setting off Jason’s makeshift alarm system. Shit, shit, shit. 

She takes off at a full sprint in what she thinks she remembers being the direction of the road but honestly she's not sure. She remembers hearing something about how even people who can swim sometimes drown because they get so deep under water that they can’t tell which way is up. Despite her mounting sense of dread and hopelessness, her legs keep moving. Pushing aside the realization that she has no idea where he is in the camp and could be running towards him for all she knows (and steadfastly ignoring the part of herself that desperately WANTS to be running towards him), her whole being becomes a single thought: KEEP MOVING. Her muscles ache and her lungs burn but just like her injured hands she doesn’t truly feel any of it. 

When she actually does find the road she’s so surprised and relieved that she laughs out loud and then claps a hand over her mouth. Jason has hearing like a German shepherd, she can only assume that she made it this far because his attention is focused on something urgent somewhere else in the camp...she hopes it’s someTHING and not someONE. That hope is abruptly dashed when she hears a female scream from a moderate distance away. She doesn’t even try to figure out which direction she needs to go to get out of the woods, she just instinctively runs away from the scream. A little voice in the back of her mind scolds her for not even thinking about helping the other woman but it gets lost among the mix of adrenaline and hormones flooding her brain. 

After what feels like hours of running at top speed she eventually collapses onto her knees. She’s suddenly so hot she can barely stand it, her stomach is twisted in knots and her breath is reduced to a shallow panting. A violent chill runs through her, followed by a renewed blossoming of warmth and a soft keening noise tears from her throat completely of it’s own accord. Without knowing exactly why (she hadn’t heard any noise) she turns to her right and sees Jason standing there. Instead of advancing on her he just waits and watches, confusion evident in his one good eye. 

She suddenly finds herself wondering how she’d failed to notice how beautiful he is...so big and sturdy and...powerful...shit. Forcing the thought out of her mind, she gets unsteadily to her feet, her limbs feel loose and heavy. She knows she’s not headed in the right direction because he doesn't immediately give chase. He only ever gives her slack when he’s certain there’s no chance she’ll actually get away. As she plunges headlong deeper into the woods her only concern is putting as much space as possible between her body and his, she doesn’t have enough functioning brain cells left to realize that she’s already made her capture inevitable. 

Of course eventually she trips on a tree root (...of course) and is sent sprawling on the damp forest floor. When she looks up she realizes that she has NO idea where she is, she couldn’t even find her way back to the camp from here if she wanted to let alone find the road again. Even though she can’t see Jason right now she somehow knows that he can see her, she feels his nearness like fiberglass prickling her skin. She only manages to make it a few more yards before the ground gives way under her foot. In the fraction of a second it takes her to realize that she’s about to fall into a pit that had been covered with dead leaves, a big, rough hand tangles in her hair and an arm wraps around her waist. 

Before Jason is able to snatch her back from the edge she catches a glimpse of the two half rotten bodies that she would fallen on. Her scream is cut short by Jason’s hand over her mouth (he HATES to hear her scream) and the arm around her waist squeezing hard enough to push the air out of her lungs. The lack of oxygen combined with her exhaustion and the heat of his body pressed against her and his scent (god, she wants to BURY herself in that scent) overwhelms her. Just as she feels him start to pick her up in his arms, she blacks out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so...I lied. The sex is going to be in the next chapter. It's taking me longer to write it than I thought it would so I'm dividing it in half and posting the first half now. Promise to have the second half up before Monday.

She’s not out long, at least she doesn’t think so. When she wakes up Jason is setting her down on a bed...or rather she wakes up BECAUSE Jason is setting her down. Even in her barely conscious state she registers the loss of physical contact and panic spikes inside her. Without a thought, her arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders and she buries her face in the side of his neck (oh, God, that SCENT.) He goes very, very rigid in her embrace and she hears his breath hitch. It’s clearly been a long time since anyone touched him voluntarily. 

He slowly reaches up and pries her arms off of him. The ease with which he does and it and with which his hands encircle her wrists sets her heart racing but this time with something markedly different than fear. If it weren’t for his mask she’d surge and kiss him. He pins her down by her wrists, studying her face with what she could swear is concern. For the first time she notices his eye color, rich dark brown. 

The fact that she’s not struggling seems to have left him at a loss for what to do so after a few second he simply lets go. Instantly she feels too light without him holding her down and craves his weight on top of her. As he backs away from her, slow and cautious as though she were a threat, she crawls across the bed after him. Only when he’s out the door and has locked it behind him does it occur to her that there shouldn’t be a door for him to lock...and that she’s on an actual bed instead of a thin cot mattress on a dirt floor. She’s on a double bed in a small room with light yellow walls, across from her there’s a dresser with a vanity, in the vanity mirror there's a thin, pale, ragged looking redhead with wild eyes and blown pupils who may have been her. 

At some point the room’s only window was broken and boards were nailed over it from the outside with gaps left between to allow sunlight through. Apart from that everything in the room looks as though it hasn’t been touched in a very long time, even the old quilt that she’s kneeling on is covered in a layer of dust. Jason has taken her to his mother’s room. She supposes she should wonder why but she can’t be bothered right now because she’s so, SO cold all of the sudden and the memory of Jason’s body heat only makes her all the colder. Absently she sees blood splatters in the dust on the floor, trailing up onto the bed and then slowly realizes that it’s her blood. 

The wounds on her hands are bleeding profusely (have they been bleeding this whole time?) and she feels the pain but it seems unimportant at present. It’s good though, it’s good that she’s bleeding because Jason doesn’t want her dead and so the fact that she’s bleeding means he has to come back and she NEEDS him to come back...she needs him to touch her. She needs his hands on her like someone who’s been wandering in the desert needs water. She feels strange, heavy and light headed like she’s been drugged but for some reason that doesn’t alarm her either. It’s probably only been a few minutes but it feels like the sun has risen and set at least three times when she finally hears Jason unlocking the door. 

He comes in slowly, the way people do when they’re afraid they may be walking in on something compromising. At first he just stands in the doorway as though waiting for her to do something. On a hunch she glances down (he hates to be stared at) and he finally approaches her. The sound of his footsteps is enough to send a thrill through her body and cause a throbbing between her legs. He drops a metal box onto the bed in front of her and it takes her a moment to realize it’s a first aid kit. Assuming he intends her to use it, she picks it up but then gets an idea. 

“I can’t open it.” She says, feigning struggling with the lid. It’s not hard to believe, the box is extremely rusty. Jason reaches down and easily wrenches it open. Whitney looks down at the box’s contents as though she doesn’t know what they are and then back up at Jason. 

“Jason.” Her use of his name causes his gaze to intensify as usual. “Could you help me...please?” 

He hesitates for an infinite moment and then slowly kneels down in front of her. When she extends her hand to him it’s shaking, as usual, but not for the usual reasons. As he takes her hand in his and begins awkwardly dressing her wounds (STOPPING blood flow is clearly not something with which he has much experience) it occurs to her that he should know the difference. He’s an alpha and she’s an omega in heat, her body is oozing pheromones, by now he should have picked up on something. Normal alphas may be able to resist an omega in heat (it’s not easy but it’s possible) but she’d expect someone as unhinged as Jason to be rabid with lust by now. 

It shows just how little fortune is smiling on her that when she finally WANTS him to lose control he suddenly becomes unusually composed. She can’t tear her eyes off his hands, can’t stop thinking about how small her’s are compared to them, and so she notices something. He’s shaking too. It’s barely noticeable, just a tiny little tremor, but in a man who usually seems to be made of stone that means something. She notices too that his breathing is a little labored...and that he’s trying to touch her as little as possible. 

It all starts to click together, he hadn’t wanted to touch her in the woods either; he’d kept his distance when chasing her and hadn’t laid a hand on her until the last possible second. Instead of bringing her back to the mine shaft (where he slept) he’d brought her here, to the room of his sainted mother, where he wouldn’t DARE commit any sinful acts. Then there’s his scent (GOD his scent), she remembers her own mother explaining to her that alphas give off pheromones too...when they’re aroused. Jason doesn't understand sex but his body obeys the dictates of nature. She realizes she was mistaken, he definitely has picked up on something and that something terrifies him because it’s turned his own body against him. 

She doesn’t notice that she’s been staring until he looks up at her, having finished his work. Before he can move away she takes his right hand in both of hers. Without breaking eye contact she raises his hand to her face, placing on her cheek the way he usually does, then she turns her head and kisses his palm. Her suspicions are confirmed when he recoils as though she’s burned him. She’s torn between pity for him and the intensified arousal that hits her at the realization that he wants her too. 

When he gets to his feet and begins to back away from her again she panics. 

“Please don’t go.” She says, voice breaking. She realizes now exactly what she needs to say to get what she needs from him, exactly what she could have said all along to get him to do whatever she wanted. When the words actually come out of her mouth her voice is barely audible because deep, deep down in whatever rational part of her is left she knows that what she’s about to do is incredibly wrong. 

“It’s ok Jason.” She whispers. “Mommy won’t hurt you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, I guess...this is where the non-con part comes in...it got weird.

Now he’s visibly shaking and she swears she can hear his mind snapping just a little bit more. She can’t bring herself to feel guilty though because it worked, he’s not moving away from her anymore. Jason is frozen halfway between the bed and the door, terrified. 

“Come here.” She rasps as she rises to her feet and then louder and firmer. “Come to mommy, Jason.” 

He bulks just a little, as though tempted to flee the room, but then obeys. It startles her when he falls to his knees in front of her and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen. He’s squeezing just a little too hard but at this point he could snap her spine for all she cares as long as he keeps touching her. She’s pulled out of her revelry by a little gasping, choking noise he makes in the back of his throat and finally a little guilt does pierce the haze of hormones around her brain. 

“It’s alright sweetie.” She soothes as she begins to pet the back of his head, finding the sparse hair there surprisingly soft...like a baby’s. “Mommy’s missed her special boy so much.” 

She lets him stay like that for several minutes while she pets the back of his neck. Eventually she slips her hand down the back of his shirt, shushing him when he jumps, and relishes her first touch a part of him that’s usually covered by clothing. Even through his mask and her shirt she can feel the heat of his breath against her skin and eventually she can’t take it anymore. She needs him inside her. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she pulls his arms off of her. He lets her do it (she knows she wouldn’t have been able to if he didn't’ let her) even though he doesn't want to let go. 

She backs away toward the bed and motions for him to follow her. When he stands she sees the physical evidence that this whole time her pheromones have been doing their work on him. It interesting how he can convey so much without the aid of a facial expression: fear, confusion, shame. She takes his hand and leads him toward the bed and again he lets her do it. He only freezes up again when she actually tries to pull him onto the bed. 

“You trust mommy, don’t you?” She asks and his hesitant nod in response is the first clear communication she’s ever gotten from him. She reaches up and pushes his coat off of his shoulders and then runs her hands down his chest. He shivers and twitches but doesn’t pull away. Clearly he’s more comfortable covered in layers. She decides she won’t make him take off all of his clothes off, she’s not that cruel. 

“Be a good boy and lie down.” She says gently, trying to keep her voice form going hoarse with lust. “I know you’re scared but I promise I can make you feel better.” 

Jason slowly sinks down onto the bed and settles onto his back. He doesn’t relax, every muscle in his body stays rigid as an iron bar. Whitney is equally rigid with the effort it takes not to immediately climb on top of him and desperately rut against him. She’d thought what she would want was to be taken, to be helpless beneath him, but having him in the palm of her hand is giving her far more of a thrill than she can imagine ever getting from being in the palm of his. Straddling him, she resists the urge to bare down (not yet) because he’s still shaking and he has a white knuckle grip on the quilt beneath him and that simply won’t do. 

He lets her pry the trembling fingers of his right hand open and take it between both hers. For a moment she’s tempted to take the bandages off of her hands so that she can feel him better but then remembers that that wouldn’t improve anything because there’s no skin under them. 

“You want to touch me, don’t you Jason?” 

Suddenly he won’t look at her and that won’t do either so she reaches down and places her hand on the side of his mask, tilting his face back towards her. For the first time ever she locks eyes with him. 

“Mommy says it’s ok.” She goes on firmly. “Now where do you want to put your hands?” 

He hesitates and then slowly, shyly reaches up and winds his fingers through her hair. Despite her frustration, she feels herself smile. So innocent, how had she not noticed before? Tenderness wells up unexpectedly and she leans forward, pressing her chest to his, and beings to pepper his neck with kisses. His grip on her hair tightens but he seems unsure if he wants to pull her away or keep her from pulling away, it hurts a little but in her hormone drugged state she likes that. His breath is coming in ragged gasps now. 

Unable to contain herself anymore she snakes her hand under his shirt. His skin radiates a delicious, primal, animal warmth that makes her mouth water and the place between her legs throb. She’s wet, SO wet. When her finger grazes his nipple he jolts violently and she feels his other hand land heavily on her lower back and his fingernails dig into her through her shirt. He seems to want to cling to her for protection but doesn’t know what from. 

“Mommy’s boy...” She purrs against his ear. “Mommy’s big, strong, handsome boy.” 

She rubs her thigh against his hard length and he finally emits a low, broken moan. Suddenly she feels stifled by her clothes. It takes some coaxing to get him to let go of her hair but as soon as he does she sits up and pulls off her shirt. That seems to hit a nerve with Jason and he begins darting panicked glances around the room as though looking for a way out. Despite his obvious reluctance, he doesn’t try to push her off. She realizes that he won’t hurt her...ever...no matter what she does. 

“Jason.” She scolds. “Look at me.” 

When he turns his gaze back to her there’s fear in his eyes and she would find it ridiculous that after all she’s seen him do she would be the one thing that scared him. She’d find it ridiculous if she didn’t understand it so well. He fears her because she has power over him, because she’s the most important thing in his small, lonely world. His nails are digging so hard into the small of her back that they have to be drawing blood by now but he’s still hard and panting...so beautiful. 

“You love me don’t you Jason.” Her voice sounds strangely low and hoarse even to her own ears. He nods slowly, shyly. 

“When you love someone it’s ok to touch.” She maintains eye contact with him as she reaches back and unhooks her bra. “I love you Jason and I need you to help me.” 

She takes a hold of the hand that had been in her hair and guides it up to her bare breast. In his eyes she can see him struggling to repress all his familiar instincts while struggling to understand the new, frightening ones that are hammering away at his brain. If she were anyone else, he’d tear her apart with his bare hands. The memory of the the things she’s seen him do (her hormone soaked brain mercifully omitting that all the people he’d done those things to had been people she’d loved) makes her think about the incredible strength in those limbs, the unstoppable force that she has subdued beneath her. Jason obediently keeps his hand where she put it, his thumb unconsciously stroking the top of her breast, savoring the texture of her skin in spite of himself. 

When she dismounts him briefly to remove her pants she worries that he’ll try to leave but he doesn’t. Jason lays there with his eyes closed, shaking, whimpering, waiting for her. Such a good boy...and he’s all hers. She rounds the bed and climbs onto it next to him, the jostling of the mattress makes him open his eyes again. When she starts to undo his belt he actually makes a feeble attempt to stop her, wrapping a hand around her wrist only to let her easily pry it off and place it back down by his side. 

It’s painful when she lowers herself onto his hard length but her answering sob is followed by a moan. It’s perfect, absolutely perfect. It startles her when his hips involuntarily stutter. Good, she thinks, he has some instinct in him after all. He takes her left hip in an urgent, bruising grip and winds his other hand into her hair again, seeking comfort against the barrage of unfamiliar sensation. She doesn’t have to ride him long before her orgasm hits and her inner muscles clamp down on him, pulling him further inside. 

As his knot begins to swell inside her he makes a sound a little too much like a sob for her liking. All she can think is that this would be the absolute worst time for him to start struggling and that she only thinks with a fraction of her mind, the rest is occupied with how exquisite the feeling of him stretching her opening is. She lays down on top of him again and gently pets the side of his neck, cooing endearments against his ear. Later on she doesn’t remember most of what she said, only that she meant it. They stay locked together for god only knows how long until she drifts into unconsciousness with him still inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have wondered who's consent was going to be dubious when the deed was finally done...the answer is "everyone"...everyone's consent was dubious.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long and sorry it took so long to write and sorry it cuts off awkwardly at the end...sorry.

When Whitney wakes up again she’s alone and the sun is rising....this has to mean that she’s slept all the way through the previous day and then the night. She could almost convince herself that what had happened had been a dream were it not for the fact that she’s still in Jason’s mother’s room and Jason’s coat is still on the floor beside the bed. Further confirmation comes in the form of a dull throbbing between her legs when she sits up. When she puts her fingers down there to investigate they come back tinted pink. Blood...but just a little blood, she tells herself. That’s normal, right? 

Seeing her clothes in a filthy heap on the floor, she abandons any plans she might have had to put them back on her body. Reluctantly she picks up Jason’s coat and uses it to cover her nakedness. As she slides it on she feels a fluttering in the pit of her stomach and remembers that she’s still technically in heat (it lasts three days.) Their knotting has caused it to recede temporarily but it’s only a matter of time before it wells up again. In the left pocket of Jason's’ coat she finds a box of matches and a wad of what looks like human hair, she puts them in the drawer of the bedside table and slams it shut. 

She can feel the memories of last night sitting heavy in the back of her mind but she refuses to acknowledge them. She knows as soon as she lets herself focus on the memories shame and self loathing will overwhelm her and she’s overwhelmed enough as it is. It occurs to her that Jason may not even understand that what they did was sex, would she be alive right now if he had? Trying not to let herself slip into panic, she combs through her options, tries to anticipate what sort of mental state Jason will be in when he gets back...then it occurs to her that she hasn’t even tried the door. 

Of course it’ll be locked, there’s no way Jason would give her freedom to roam without him present. Nonetheless she walks over and tries the knob. It turns easily in her grasp and for a second she’s frozen with disbelief. Dejavu hits as she steps out into the tiny living room of the house she and Mike had discovered on that fateful night of exploration. To her left is the kitchen, to her right is a door that’s closed now that she knows leads to Jason’s childhood room. She knows that off the kitchen she would find the house’s one small bathroom, where the severed head of Pamela Voorhees sits in a makeshift shrine in the bathtub. She won't be going in there. 

Suddenly she realizes that she’s been hearing a sound this whole time, a faint, repetitive, thudding noise from outside. She has the oddest feeling of knowing she should be afraid but not being, as though the switch in her head responsible for that emotion simply won’t flip. Instead curiosity takes over and she numbly makes her way toward the sound, through the kitchen and to the back door. When she opens it she’s struck dumb for a moment because Jason is there with an ax...splitting wood. Seeing him do something so menial and benign only heightens the feeling of unreality she’s had since she woke up. Though she’s supposes it wouldn’t be possible for him to have survived this long without doing things like this...he has to keep from freezing to death in the winter somehow. 

He carries on oblivious to her presence for a while but eventually senses that he’s being watched. His posture becomes defensive for only a second before realizes it’s her. Having his gaze on her causes a sickeningly familiar stirring inside her but it’s muffled now, bearable (god only knows for how long.) There’s a long silence during which she can’t think of anything to say, it’s not as though there’s standard dialogue for this situation and he’s certainly no help, but then she finds her voice. 

“I’m hungry.” 

As she says it she realizes it's true, she’s starving. Jason puts down the ax and starts off in the direction of the camp grounds. Whitney isn’t sure if she’s meant to follow but she does. When he realizes she's beside him he pauses briefly and looks at her then down at her body, his eyes lingering on his coat. He shortens his strides when he starts to move again, as if to make it easier for her to keep up. 

He seems different to her now though she can’t pinpoint a single thing about him that’s changed. Generally he seems more human, less like a faceless, indestructible golem and more just like...a man in a mask. She finds herself gripped with the urge to see him without it. He’s disfigured, that much is plain from the bits of him above the neck that she can see, but having that general knowledge is not the same as actually knowing what he looks like. As she’s starting to ask herself why she cares, they come to a long, narrow wooden building. 

Jason opens the door and nods for her to enter ahead of him. At first she assumes it’s because he wants to keep an eye on her but then remembers that he would have left her alone at the house. He’s being polite, she realizes, Jason Voorhees is trying to be polite. She catches herself finding that endearing and quickly squelches the emotion. It’s bad enough that she’s not afraid of him any more and can’t figure out exactly how much of that is the result of chemical changes that being “bonded” has caused in her brain. She thinks back on the horror stories she’s heard about emotionally unstable omegas becoming completely different people after they were bonded...she doesn’t FEEL like a different person. Then again only yesterday the sight of Jason holding an ax would have sent her running and today it only gave her momentary pause. 

The room is full of long, narrow tables similar to the kind you’d find in a high school lunchroom but they’re not lined up neatly how they should be. To her left one of the large windows has been shattered and the table beneath it snapped vertically down the middle. She guesses this is the aftermath of one of Jason's many fights. There are probably little tableaus like this scattered all over the camp. Remembering the window in his mother’s room, she wonders if that got broken in a similar fashion. 

On the far side of the room is a large window with metal shutters, beside it a narrow metal door. Assuming that leads to the kitchen, she makes her way across. She can see footprints in the dust from Jason’s coming and going. The door to the kitchen creaks when it’s opened and the first thing she’s met with once inside is an enormous reddish brown stain in the middle of the floor. She edges around it to get to the walk in pantry. Eventually Jason trails in behind her, walking over the stain as though it weren’t even there. 

He watches her look through the pantry seeming just a little reproached, as though he’d expected her to wait for him to show her where it was. Everything inside that wasn’t in a can has been gnawed by rats. She hesitantly plucks a can off the shelf, blowing the dust off of it’s lid. There’s a can opener chained to the counter just outside the pantry but she finds it rusted to the point of uselessness. It startles her when Jason takes the can from her hand, how can he be so big and so quiet at the same time? 

Jason takes a knife from his pocket and begins to cut open the lid manually. While he does so Whitney goes over to inspect the stove. It’s a big, steel, industrial stove designed for making large batches of food. Turning one of the knobs produces nothing, not even a spark. Of course, she thinks, they wouldn’t have left the gas hooked up when the place was condemned. She has similar results with the faucet, the pipes groan but nothing comes out. Jason had given her water though, when he had her locked up, and it hadn’t tasted as though it came from the lake. 

She finds a cupboard full of plastic bowl similar to the one Jason usually gives her and takes one out. She uses the sleeve of Jason's coat to wipe the dust out of it. The soup is vegetable this time, it’s almost unbearably salty but she’s so hungry she downs it in seconds. Jason’s looking at her again as though he’s trying to figure out what’s different about her. If he looks different to her it only makes sense that she would look different to him. She wonders if she still looks like his mother to him and, if not, if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Even at the prospect of him harming her she still finds herself unable to become alarmed even though she knows that would be the rational response in this situation. Strangely enough she feels invulnerable, as though nothing could possibly hurt her with him around. This is bad. She puts the bowl in the sink for no real reason and then turns to regard him again. To keep her thoughts off the overwhelming reality of her situation, she decides to focus on something menial. 

“Do you remember the last time you brought me water?” He nods. “Could you please show me where you got it?” 

He points to a door to his right that appears to lead outside. Whitney walks over and opens it and steps out into the small clearing between the building and the woods beyond. There’s a low, wide mound on the ground with a cement disk in the center of it. She’s not sure what she’s looking at and, strangely enough, Jason seems to pick up on her confusion. She wonders if their knotting has made him better at reading her the way it’s made her better at reading him. 

He crouches down and pries back the cement disk to expose a hole underneath. It dawns on Whitney then that this is a maintenance portal that leads to a well. There’s a rope leading into it that’s tied to a nearby tree which Whitney kneels down and pulls. Eventually a bucket that Whitney recognizes rises up out of the darkness. It’s not running water, she thinks, but it’s better than nothing. 

Immediately she inwardly admonishes herself for thinking as though there were a need to make long term plans. She IS NOT staying here, it’s just that she can’t escape now, not in the state she’s in, not during her heat...but in three days.... Jason’s hand dips into the bucket in front of her, prompting her to look back up at him. He just barely lifts his mask and drinks the water from his cupped hand. It hits her that he thinks that she didn’t realize that she could drink it and she would laugh if she had it in her to do so at the moment. 

Without a word she gets up, bucket in hand, and walks back toward the house. Jason hesitates a moment and then rises to trail her. Despite the fact that he makes no sound she doesn't need to look back to know he’s there. He follows her into the house but stops when she goes back into his mother’s room and closes the door behind her. She waits until she hears his footsteps leaving the house before she removes his coat. 

She roots through the dresser until she finds a cotton handkerchief which she then dips in the water and begins to methodically wash herself. She finds herself idly wondering if Jason ever does this. He’s not exactly well groomed but he’s not nearly dirty enough to imply that he never bathes. That train of thought is instantly regretted as it leads to memories of how Jason's body had felt under hers. She feels herself flush and hurriedly finishes washing, spending as little time as possible on the between her legs. Once that’s done she changes the bandages on her hands. 

It occurs to her that after...what happened, it’s in incredibly poor taste to wear Jason’s mother’s clothes but she has no choice. She can’t wear just his coat forever...for however long she’s here, she means. So she finds herself going through the wardrobe for anything that isn’t too moth eaten. Jason’s mother was at least twenty pounds heavier than her and by no means a stylish a woman but she eventually finds a tan sleeveless dress that will do. As she’s tying the sash around her waist, she notices a metal box at the bottom of the wardrobe. 

Curiosity gets the better of her and she takes it out and brings it to the bed. It’s not locked and the latch clicks opens easily. The first thing she finds is a pale blue receiving blanket folded neatly into a square. At first she’s confused by it’s presence but then remembers that this IS Jason’s mother’s room. She holds it for a moment and tries to imagine Jason small and helpless...it’s no easy task. 

Under that there’s a bundle of papers, a birth certificate with Jason’s name on it. She cringes at the realization of exactly how much older than her Jason is. He doesn’t have the mind of an adult though, she reminds herself, and so she only has herself to blame for...for... Pushing on, she comes across a wedding photo out of which the man’s face has been cut. The woman in it looks eerily like her, save for the slight baby bump under her white dress. 

She sees an eerie facsimile of her own face again on an exhausted but happy woman in a hospital gown...holding a baby. The baby has a malformed head and a cleft pallet and only one good eye but it may as well be a flawless cherub for the way it’s mother is looking at it. There’s a dull ache in Whitney’s chest and stinging behind her eyes, she realizes that what she’s feeling is shame. Jesus Christ what has she done? She told him she LOVED him...Jesus fucking Christ. 

She tosses the papers back into the box and slams it shut. Curling up in the fetal position on the bed, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her heat unfurling inside her, she weighs her options. Is she really even trapped here anymore? He seems to trust her more now but she doesn't know exactly how much more. If she were to just walk out of the camp would he stop her or let her go, trusting her to come back? 

Unexpectedly, it hurts her to think of him here all alone, waiting for her. In a way isn’t that what started this all? His mother taught him nothing but to fear the world and then left him alone in it. She tries to find her hatred of Jason again but when she goes inside herself to where it should be there’s nothing. In desperation she conjures up the image of Mike’s dead body. 

It hurts, it hurts SO much to even remember his name but even that doesn’t get her to where she knows she should be. She doesn’t want to hurt Jason, really she’s not even sure if she’d ever wanted to hurt him. In the beginning Jason hadn’t even seemed like a person and you can’t get revenge on an animal or a force of nature or whatever the hell she’d thought of him as. Now he seems almost too human and too much like just as much of a victim of his situation as all the people he’s killed are (“so innocent, how had she not noticed before...”). All at once a terrible realization hits her...she won’t leave him...she can’t bring herself to do it. Not after what she’s done to him. 

If she’s honest with herself, what she feels for him now is a frighteningly powerful sense of ownership. All she’s learned about him, everything she knows he’s done, how very wrong the circumstances of their...joining were, it’s all background noise compared to the unquestionable fact of him being HER’S now. That’s not right, is it? She’s supposed to be his, he’s not supposed to be her’s...that’s the way it usually works...right? Then again she’s also supposed to feel an irrepressible desire to submit and she doesn’t feel that either. She feels like he needs her. 

That’s almost comforting because it’s familiar, she’s always been needed, always been the strong one. She guesses there’s no reason that had to change once she was bonded, she really ISN’T a different person. All that’s changed is that now she and Jason belong together, they just DO...that’s the long and short of it. She had expected being bonded to feel more romantic but, then again, she’s never been the romantic type. No, her way of thinking has always been more functional, you do what needs to be done because it needs to be done.


	6. Jason's Last Birthday Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pamela Voorhees had a plan.

They knot once more before the end of her heat. She manages to coax him on top of her this time but he clearly doesn’t like being there. As they lay on their sides facing each other afterward (his knot still inside her) she has to keep reassuring him that he hasn’t hurt her. It seems difficult for him to grasp that it’s possible for him to touch another person without damaging them. He keeps running his hands through her hair and over her face and neck very, very gently as if making a silent apology. 

She’s awoken later that night by the sound of thunder outside. Her view of the window is obstructed by Jason’s still clothed body lying next to her. It takes her a moment to make it out in the dark but eventually she realizes that his one good eye is closed. So he does sleep. For a few moments she just lays there looking at him and then her palms start to itch. Without and direct instructions from her brain, her right hand moves towards his mask. 

Before she can even touch him, he seems to sense that he’s about to be touched. With the violent abruptness of a cobra strike his hand closes around her wrist, his whole frame goes rigid, his breathing goes ragged and his eye opens. An ill timed peel of thunder makes it hard to tell but she thinks she hears him growl. 

“Jason!” She snaps reflexively and just as quickly as the burst of aggression arose, it subsides. He immediately releases her, blinking in confusion. She just startled him, that’s all. Most people don’t respond well to being unexpectedly touched while they’re sleeping and he’s been alone so long that any touch would be unexpected. 

Clearly he doesn’t see it that way because he scrambles out of the bed and makes for the door. She’s on the side of the bed closest to it so she manages to get there in time to block him. He could easily move her, she knows that, but she also knows that he won’t. 

“Please stay with me.” 

He studies her face a moment as if looking for signs of fear then his eyes drift down to her body then abruptly back up to her face. Seemingly at random, he removes his coat and hands it to her. She’d somehow forgotten that she’s still naked. 

“Thank you.” She hesitantly takes the garment and puts it on, then reaches down and takes his hand. “Please come lay down.” 

He allows himself to be led back to the bed but noticeably shifts away from her when she lays down next to him. She doesn’t know if he goes back to sleep, when she closes her eyes he’s still awake and watching her. When she wakes up she finds herself alone again. She can’t even find Jason in the yard but this doesn’t worry her. It’s not as though he’s going to leave her. 

She decides that while he’s off doing whatever it is he’s doing (possibly killing someone, the voice in the back of her mind supplies unhelpfully) she may as well take the opportunity to look around on her own. Since she wants to start out as far away from the bathroom as possible, she goes to Jason’s (former) bedroom. Like most rooms in the house it’s claustrophobic-ally small. A small wooden bed, a desk and a bookshelf leave no additional room. The bed is set low to the ground and covered in a hospital quality blanket, at it’s head, leaning against the pillow, is a ragged old teddy bear. 

The bear appears to have been one of little Jason’s precious few toys, the rest are neatly arranged on the shelf amidst the the books. Whitney wonders if he could read them or if his mother had to read them to him. He was supposed to have been around nine when he “died” but... “deformed or retarded or something.” She finds she doesn’t like thinking about him that way and so pushes the thought out of her mind. In the desk she finds work books that suggest that Jason’s mother must have home schooled him. Trying to imagine what their life here together must have been like makes her strangely sad. 

While looking through a closet full of clothes that would definitely not fit him now, it occurs to her that she’s not going to learn anything about him here. Jason hasn’t been the little boy who lived in this room for a very long time. She knows where he lives now but the thought of going back there gives her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she leaves the dust covered shrine to Jason’s lost innocents she takes the bear with her for reasons she doesn’t even try to justify to herself. 

She stands outside the open trap door leading into the mine shaft for an embarrassingly long time. She tells herself she’s being ridiculous, there’s nothing for her to fear down there or anywhere on the grounds of the camp...not anymore. Despite how firmly certain of her safety she is, a subconscious instinct screams at her not to go back down there, that if she does she won’t come back out again. Realizing that this whole time she’s been clutching the bear to her chest is enough to make her force herself past her fear. Her heart is racing as she jumps down into the dark, damp abyss that’s been Jason’s home for at least a decade now. 

The smell of rot hits her at first with the same force that it did the first time she was dragged down here kicking and screaming but she becomes acclimated to it faster than she did the first time. The corridor is grimly familiar and leads, of course, to the chamber where he keeps all the odds and ends that he takes off of his victim’s bodies...and where he’d kept her. The mattress and shackles haven’t been touched, she can even still see her blood on them. The wounds on her hands give and answering throb at the sight and she looks away. That’s not where she needs to be looking anyway. 

There are piles everywhere but as she looks closer she realizes there is some method to the madness. For example one pile contains nothing but broken cell phones, another jewelry, another wallets. She notes that nothing's been removed from the wallets and wonders if Jason even has a concept of money. To her relief she comes upon a pile of empty duffel bags and next to that a pile of clothing. She digs through the pile until she finds a pair of jeans and a shirt close to her size. They’re in far better shape than any of the things in Jason’s mother’s closet and she tries not to think about how recently their former owner must have died. 

She leaves his coat draped over the grindstone that she’s seen him use, reasoning that he’s likely to find it there. Along the far wall behind it there’s a massive wooden work bench that must have been there since the mine was operational. She assumed that because she can’t imagine anyone, even Jason, moving something that big and heavy down there. Jason clearly uses it though, it’s surface is scattered with little object of the kind that he strings together to add to his makeshift alarm system. There are also various, innocuous tools and gardening implements all of which have been sharpened or crudely altered in ways that make them serviceable as weapons. Regardless of how intelligent Jason may or may not be, he certainly is industrious. 

There’s only one corridor leading further into the mine (where she THINKS she want’s to go) and getting to it requires her to go back to the side of the room that her mattress is on. On her way back there a wooden door catches her eyes and suddenly she remembers that that’s where she’s seen him throw the bodies...that’s probably where her friends are now. Her stomach turns and her blood runs cold but she HAS to see. She has to confront what this man to whom she is now eternally bound has done. She can’t just keep forcing herself to not think about it forever. 

The closer she gets to the door the more she feels like she might faint. Clutching the bear to her chest, she holds her breath and opens the door.to find... nothing. The floor and walls are spattered with blood but there’s not a corpse in sight. It dawns on Whitney that that must be where Jason has gone, off to dispose of the bodies somewhere. She wonders if this is something he usually does or if it’s just something he’s doing now out of consideration for her. She feels a strange mix of relieved and cheated. 

She backs away from the bloody chamber until her heel hits the mattress. Of it’s own accord her mind begins to race with possibilities of what he might have done with the bodies...with MIKE’S body. That takes her thoughts to his parents, who’ll never see their little boy again and won’t even be given the courtesy of being told what happened to him. Shit, she shouldn’t have come down here. Why open that can of worms? It’s not like there’s anything to be done about it now... she can’t bring people back from the dead. 

Blinking back her tears, she tries to decide if she wants to proceed. Coming down here in the first place may have been a mistake but the things she’s seen so far are things that she already at least suspected were there. She hasn’t learned anything new and if she doesn’t then this little excursion was a complete waste. In for a penny in for a pound, she decides, and she takes a deep breath and heads further down into the mine shaft. In a few yards she comes to a second, smaller chamber. 

There’s not much here but it appears to be where Jason sleeps. In the far left corner there’s a sort of makeshift bed made of stolen sleeping bags and blankets and coats. She’s reminded of a rat’s nest. Across from that there’s a small table upon which more clothing is piled, the difference between this pile and the other pile is that the clothing in it looks large enough to fit Jason. That’s noteworthy because she doubts many people his size come to camp near Crystal Lake...there aren’t many people his size in the world. Most of it looks like the sort of thing that would be worn by either a soldier or a maintenance worker. 

She briefly looks through the pile of clothing, not being surprised when she finds nothing of note. Not knowing what else to do but feeling like leaving before she’s learned anything would be admitting defeat, Whitney goes over and lies down in the middle of the rats nest. She’s not going to let Jason sleep down here anymore, she knoes that much. This room is even colder and damper than the one he’d kept her in and despite the padding she can still feel the cold stone of the floor on her back. Being in the house clearly makes him uncomfortable for some un-discernible reason but she knows that he’ll sleep there if she makes it clear she wants him to. 

Her hand idly strays to beneath the mass of cloth that serves as a pillow and finds something there. Pulling it out and examining it, she realizes that it’s a cheap, plastic pocket knife. On one side of it’s light blue sheath, “Camp Crystal Lake” is painted in red letters. Jason’s name has been sloppily scratched into the other side. It’s far too little and flimsy for him to use as a weapon so she can only conclude that he keeps it there for sentimental reasons. An involuntary smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. 

She experimentally opens and closes it before carefully returning it to it’s original place. Just as she’s about to decide that there’s no point in lingering here any longer, something on the other side of the room catches her eye. There’s a cinder block pressed tightly into the corner. On it’s own it’s not so odd but she can’t help but remember that the only other place on the grounds that she’s seen cinder blocks is around the fire pit...which is at the edge of the woods...all the way on the other side of the camp. Why would he need just one cinder block? 

Rolling off the “bed” she crawls the short distance to the other corner and kneels there a moment, silently contemplating the cinder block. For some reason she feels like she shouldn’t move it, not because Jason would get mad at her (she’s not even a little afraid of him anymore) but for some other, more nebulous reason. Like their might be something behind it that might hurt her...like a snake...or a spider... The sheer ridiculousness of her fear makes he reach out and push the block aside with affected casualness that’s dropped immediately when she sees that there IS something there. Along the floor, carved into the hard packed soil of the wall, there’s a rectangular hole. 

She can’t bring herself to reach into it with her hand (...a snake...or a spider) and instead gets up and leaves the room. Moments later she returns with a thin piece of copper pipe about a foot long. She slides it in on the left side (finding the hole to be about 9 inches deep) and moves it to the right only to immediately hit an obstruction. It turns out to be something rectangular and wrapped in burlap. Removing the rough, ragged covering, she finds a very old book inside. 

It’s leather cover is full of wrinkles and creases that, if she didn’t know better, she’d say resembled a scowling face. As soon as he hand directly touches it’s cover, Whitney feels something big and cold and invisible brush against her. She tells herself that it was just a breeze, forcing herself to forget that in all the time she was imprisoned down here she hadn’t felt a single gust of fresh air. Realizing that she’d been holding her breath, she forces her lungs to start working again a she opens the cover. 

The very first thing she sees is “LEAVE THIS BOOK ALONE” violently scrawled across the top of a page in red ink. Beneath the defacement is smaller, neater script written in a vertical format in a language that looks like nothing she’s ever seen before. Despite the warning and the fact that alarm bells are going off in the back of her mind, she begins tuning the pages mechanically as though in a trance. The wholly alien writing fills up the next few pages...and then the illustrations start. At first they’re only slightly unsettling, like the pictures in very old medical textbooks but they escalate as the book goes on. 

There are images of bodies dismembered in ways far more intricate and ritualistic than any of Jason’s handiwork. Gradually they become interspersed with images that are equal parts violent and sexual. There are some men and some animals but most of the images are of naked women. Naked women being hacked apart, naked women being buried alive, naked women being strangled and hanged and drowned. In one image a nude woman is impaled on a spike that goes in between her legs and comes out the front of her throat, in another a nude woman pours liquid over herself that appears to be hot enough to melt her skin. 

Some helpful past reader (or more likely readers, as the hand writing varies) went to the trouble of adding colorful annotations. “THE BITCHES ARE INFESTED”, “THE DEVILS BITCH! KILL!KILL! KILL”, “HE’LL SUCK YOUR SOUL DRY”, “HELL DRAG YOU TO HELL!!”, “SATAN LIVES!”, etc. At about the half way mark there’s another note in the same handwriting as the first one written large enough to cover the page: “WHAT PART OF LEAVE THIS BOOK ALONE DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?” That makes Whitney laugh but it comes out breathless and hysterical. She becomes briefly transfixed by an image of a nude woman bound spreadeagled between two trees, her face downcast, her body limp with resignation, vines slithering into her vagina like eels. An unwelcome twinge between her legs and the realization that he nipples are hard makes her turn the page. 

Eventually there’s an unexpected pop of color. A sheet of lined stationary with a floral design across the top is tucked between two of the pages. Whitney recognizes it, there’s a whole box of it in the roll top desk in the living room upstairs. Written on the stationary in small, neat cursive is a single sentence: “For Jason’s birthday.” The passage it was meant to mark is just as inscrutable as everything else in the book and there are no annotations here (colorful or otherwise.) Only one image accompanies the passage, it’s of a human corpse (so decayed that it’s gender is indescribable) that appears to be clawing it’s way out of the ground. It’s confusing though because down in the grave below it, there’s another, identical corpse and on the ground above it, there’s a different, seemingly fresher corpse. 

Hearing footsteps in the outer chamber, Whitney slams the book shut, re-wraps it and puts it back where she found it. Emerging into the outer chamber, she runs right into Jason. She instinctively tries to back away but he grabs both her upper arms so hard she expects that there’ll be bruises there tomorrow. As he realizes it’s her, his grip loosens and his whole frame noticeably relaxes but he’s still shaking and breathing heavily. She realizes that he’d been panicking because he couldn’t find her, because he’d thought that she left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, I'm back! Long after everyone has stopped caring...that's how I roll.  
> As usual, pretty please leave me a comment.


	7. It's not urgent...yet.

When Whitney decided that it was time to clean the house, she deliberately started as far from the bathroom as possible. Jason had bristled in agitation when he came into the kitchen to find her washing dishes in a bucket of cold water with borax detergent that she found in the camps laundry facility along with other assorted cleaning supplies. She absently wonders what she’ll do when that and the canned food run out but it’s not urgent yet. Of course, she understands his ambivalence, in his mind this isn’t a house but a shrine to his mother (Saint Pamela.) Since their knotting, she’s been sleeping up here alone every night but she’s hoping that making it feel more like a home and less like a time capsule will be the first step in coaxing him above ground. 

As expected he makes no move to stop her despite clearly wishing she would stop. After a few minutes of her carry on as if she hasn’t noticed him standing in the doorway, he reluctantly begins taking the dishes she’s washed and putting them away. It’s seems like a reflexive response on his part and that makes her wonder if he used to do this with his mother. Those sorts of lines of thought still make her cringe but she can’t avoid them if she ever hopes to really understand him. She does want to understand him and not only because she’s going to be spending the rest of her life with him. The weathers started turning colder but it’ll inevitably warm back up again and then the campers and the hikers and the other assorted unfortunates will be back…she hopes to convince him to stop killing by then. 

Whitney feels herself start to get anxious but then reminds herself that that also is not urgent. When the dishes are done, she starts wiping down the counters and Jason takes the bucket and goes outside. He’s gotten into the habit of periodically emptying and refilling it for her. She can’t help but notice that when he comes back he “casually” positions himself between her and the bathroom after setting the bucket of clean water down on the counter. She supposes that that’s not urgent either but she would like to give her…mother in law (?) a proper burial before the ground freezes. She’s come across a few secluded spots that she thinks would be suitable for the purpose on the walks she takes every evening around sundown. Jason always trails behind her, clearly under the impression that she doesn’t know he’s there. 

She doesn’t like admitting it to herself but something about having him silently stalk her through the woods turns her on. There’s a lot of things that would have terrified her before that have the exact opposite effect on her now and she finds herself shamefully grateful for the fact that there’s no one around who might pick up on that and ask her about it. Jason tries to act like he doesn’t pick up on it but she knows he can because she can FEEL him picking up on it. Since their knotting, it’s been like their nervous systems are connected…or at least certain portions of their nervous systems. Of course, he won’t do anything about it, not of his own volition, and (of course) she can’t bring herself to take the initiative when she isn’t out of her mind in heat. Though she doesn’t doubt it’ll happen again (as inevitably as the waxing of the moon) guilt over the circumstances of their coupling still itches at the back of her mind. 

The rest of the day follows that pattern, she’ll go to a new room and start cleaning, he’ll seem agitated at first but then reluctantly begin helping her. Despite it not being a large house, it winds up taking until sundown to chip off the accumulated layers of dust and grime. While there’s still some light left, Whitney opens all the windows that aren’t broken to air the place out. She’ll have to find a way to cover the broken ones soon, it’s already bordering on uncomfortably cold at night and she WON’T go back to sleeping in the mines. Her omega instincts helpfully suggest that it’d be much easier to keep warm if the two of them were sharing a bed. 

As usual, she sets off on her walk without a word. Initially she’d questioned the wisdom of idly wondering in these woods but she’s found that it’s easy to avoid Jason’s traps when you’re not actively fleeing for your life. Even if she hadn’t learned to spot them, she trusts that he won’t let her wander into a trip wire or step on a bear trap. After a few minutes, she feels the familiar tingling in the pit of her stomach that lets her know he’s near and suddenly doesn’t feel like playing their usual game of predator-and-prey. 

“Jason?” 

She turns in what she instinctively knows is his direction. There’s no response, of course, but the following silence is distinctly charged. 

“JASON,” she prods “I want you to come out here.” 

After nearly half a minute he unceremoniously steps out from behind a tree…it’s almost comical. Rather, it would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that seeing his looming frame among the trees, backlit by the setting sun, invokes a potent mix of feelings in her. There’s a little spurt of adrenaline that she’s come to identify as her fight-or-flight reflex attempting and failing to activate and a brief flickering of horrific, remembered images in her mind before both are drown out by a far stronger feeling that’s made all the more unsettling by the fact that it’s not at all negative. The shameless little whisper that’s been ever present in the back of her mind since their knotting asks if she thinks she’d be able to get him to rut her on her hands and knees right there on the forest floor but since she’s not in heat she’s able to ignore it…for the time being. 

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me?” 

He walks next to her but slightly behind, as if walking WITH someone feels unnatural to him. She doesn’t mind that though, or his silence. One thing she’s grown to appreciate about Jason is that there’s no pressure to talk when she’s alone with him. It’s not that she’s generally glad he’s mute, in fact there’ve been plenty of times when she desperately wished he could just tell her what he was thinking, but she doesn’t miss inane small talk at all. For a mad moment, she considers holding his hand but then decides that that would be ridiculous. 

At one point Jason stops walking, his whole body goes rigid and his hand reflexively moves to the utility ax he had on his belt. Whitney almost asks what’s wrong but then she hears it, a faint, metallic rattling. For a moment she’s gripped by horror, her mind races. She CAN’T watch him kill someone. Should she try to stop him? Could she? She has to at least TRY. Normally he’ll do anything she says if she just takes a firm tone with him but, somehow, she doubts that’ll work here. Should she try to physically stop him? Would he hurt her if she did? 

In the few seconds it takes her to get to the brink of full-fledged panic, he relaxes. She immediately feels ridiculous. Of course, she thinks, the rattling was too soft and too brief…probably just the wind…and OF COURSE Jason wouldn’t hurt her. The bruises on her upper arms are almost healed by now…and he hadn’t done that on purpose. As her near-panic recedes, she realizes that she’s also wet. Jesus Christ, she thinks, how sick am I? 

“Let’s go home.” She hears herself say. 

When they get back to the house, Jason is just a little on edge. He’s “picking up on it” again and that always makes him nervous. If she were in heat she’d try to coax him into bedroom with her and, of course, he’d wind up relenting. Since she’s not, she just watches him retreat to the mines with a frustrated sigh. He’ll be in and out of there at least three times throughout the night. She’s learned that he’s not capable of sleeping for more than a few hours at a time. During the summer, he spends the hottest part of the day sleeping underground and stays up patrolling the woods most of the night but his patterns are changing now that the weather is getting colder. During her time underground, she’d been on his schedule and not even realized it. 

Whitney closes all the windows, brushes her teeth with baking soda that she found in a nurse’s office that’s in a small cabin in the center of the camp beside the one with the washing machines and cleaning supplies in it. None of the machines had been working, some type of rodent appeared to have nested in one of them, so she’ll have to come up with some other way of washing the sheets but for now she’s settled for airing them out. As she gets into bed, she feels her attention being pulled toward the bottom drawer of the dresser. That’s where she put the book. The day after she’d first found it in Jason’s underground lair, she’d come back from a lengthy exploration of the camp to find the book and the stuffed bear sitting in the middle of her bed. 

She doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he apparently realized that she found it and, apparently, wants her to have it. It might help if she had any idea what it was or at least what language it was written in…does he think that she can read it? If she can’t, she doubts that he can but he’d seen fit to keep it near him, so he must know SOMETHING about it. She thinks of asking him, he can’t talk or write much outside of his own name but he has managed to communicate things to her non-verbally before. Still, for some reason, she can’t bring herself to bring it up to him. It feels like the sort of thing that no one should ever talk about…or think about...or know about…like it shouldn’t exist at all…but he’d wanted HER to have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a short one but I'm on temporary medical leave from work right now so there'll be more coming.


End file.
